Catherine Faulkner Spellman

Catherine Faulkner Spellman


“Gosh all hemlock” she’d

say, taking us kids

back a generation or

two.  “Wait ‘til the Moon

Shines Nellie,” she’d hum

the way Harry James played horn.

Her husband played too,

and mellophone and

knew the notch was on his door

so hobos would stop in to

feast on her stretched meals.

If you failed to say

“hello,” she’d be offended,

Say “you could at least

Tell me to drop dead.”

Her children, often sad, as

their father died young,

had interesting

lives: wild yet so human, and

grandkids wilder yet, untamed

by normal

corporate constraints, living their

own way, led

by the power she

conveyed, the power

to trust our

instincts, know nature, bake a

great pie, cry

when you had to, but

hum the blues away.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


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